


Selfish Innocents

by Tabi



Category: Bakuretsu Hunters | Sorcerer Hunters
Genre: Incest, M/M, Milpheron, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabi/pseuds/Tabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milphey likes to help Marron the best he can, but can never be quite sure if this kind of help is the type that Marron really needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selfish Innocents

Marron Glace, sometimes, is selfish.

He would never admit this and, perhaps, is not even aware of it. Milphey is however aware of it, but will never say anything. Instead, he will walk the stone and marble floors of Eden barefoot through the night until he comes to the shared bedroom of the Glace brothers and he'll wait there, rocking silently back and forth on his heels until the door opens. He never has to knock or say anything, but Marron just _knows_. Milphey still isn't quite sure how. Perhaps it is some facet of his Eastern Magic training, perhaps he is just somebody incredibly aware and perceptive of his own personal space, perhaps there is simply something to be said for trained habit. Either way, it doesn't matter; Marron doesn't look at him as they walk, but Milphey doesn't mind.

Milphey loves the silence that stretches through the long rooms with their tall pillars and high ceilings, the silence that means they are safe and protected just for tonight; at any second there could be some cataclysmic disaster, which is why Milphey finds it hard to sleep. Best to be awake to be the first to catch it--... though there is rarely anything _to_ catch. Only wayward Glace brothers similarly unable to sleep.

They walk through the silence and Milphey keeps an active eye to the shadows, to the windows, to the spaces inbetween. Not for any particular reason; the night's air is cool and something about the atmosphere feels fresh and he likes that, such a drop in temperature after comfortably warm days only feels pleasant in turn. He casts an eye over Marron, too. The younger boy keeps pace with him, but his tread isn't so light. His arms are folded inside his robes and he looks down as he walks, even his step seeming to communicate a glum sense of necessity for this action over any other principle. Milphey knows he could argue such a thing and has done many times in the past, but Marron can be stubborn and blinkered when it comes to things he doesn't understand. Things he thinks he _does_ understand. Things that, due to that very nature of observation, he can't yet hope to grasp.

The others praise him for being mature and Milphey can see and admire that; he is mature, for sixteen. As mature as anybody can be while surrounded with what he has to deal with on a daily basis, mature compared to the _others_. If he wasn't thoroughly committed to their job, who else would pick up the pieces? Milphey loved them all, but wished that their collective concentration could at least _try_ to hold for longer. He doesn't blame Marron for those occasions when his temper is short and his mood fraught; any job brings stress, surely? Something like this, moreso. And so they walk back to Milphey's room in the middle of the night, because he's out on the western wing and nobody will hear them there. Because all other good little Sorcerer Hunters and Haz Knights are busy getting their rest at this time of the night. Because Marron seems to be closing in on himself the further he walks, and Milphey doesn't know if his own behaviour is helping or hindering such small tragedies. Still, Marron has never quite been one to relax.

He worries, sometimes, that Carrot will wake and find him missing. This is, Milphey supposes, a valid concern. Valid, though not particularly threatening. He's seen Carrot in the mornings, it's hard enough getting him to wake up when they've got a mission to leave for, let alone any time inbetween. Even if he _were_ to wake and find Marron gone, Milphey has a feeling that he would not think it the great calamity that would be inevitable were the situation reversed. Marron would scour Eden to find his brother during the night, only to meet him on the way back from the bathroom. Another facet of Eastern Magic, this strange brother-radar? Milphey doubts it.

Marron tends to close himself off from everybody around him (and especially, it seems, to those closest to him). Milphey knows that having got him this far is honour enough, but also knows that that doesn't particularly mean anything, either. He'll defer to Marron's command because he wants this all to be Marron's own decision, but sees the patterns and pieces falling into place. They get back to Milphey's room and he holds the door open, Marron walks in without looking up. Milphey glances up and down the outer corridor just in case, though he wonders afterward who precisely he is afraid to see there. In any case, the corridor is empty; it's safe, for now.

They are closed off together here, in the bedroom. Milphey knows that even in this situation, he simply can't hope to penetrate the locked space of Marron's mind; warped and shaped by years of training and duty, the boy is loyal to a fault - one which could ruin them all were it left unchecked. He unbuttons his nightshirt with an impassive expression and Milphey stands by the door and watches with something similar, knowing that Marron won't make eye contact. Knowing that Gateau would kill for this. Knowing that Carrot would kill him for this (or at least make empty threats along that line of thought). Knowing that the others have warned him time and time again about getting involved with Sorcerer Hunters, knowing that time and time again he would get his heart broken and time and time again, he would (and will) make the same mistakes. Knows that, in the future, the side of him that loves Marron may shatter to breaking point, never to be repaired. But that's alright, because people have many sides and he can keep that one locked away, never to be viewed by anybody else at all.

Marron is selfish because he doesn't know any better. He is selfish because this is the first time he's felt such feelings and, in his naivete, has allowed himself to be overwhelmed by them. Milphey can understand this; everybody has some kind of first love to _some_ degree, don't they? They always said that your first love never bore fruit. Milphey knows that there are exceptions to every rule, but that Marron is unlikely to be one of them. It doesn't help that Marron seems determined to set this up as being as difficult as possible, either. If it were Gateau, if it were Milphey himself, even if it were Chocolat or Tira or _anyone--_... but no, it has to be Carrot. Within their group, it _always_ had to be Carrot.

He is selfish because he feels trapped and because he feels trapped, he feels threatened. Marron would never admit to feeling scared, but Milphey can see it, as clear as anything. Marron gets angry sometimes, because he says - and most likely feels - that Milphey doesn't understand. Can't understand. Milphey would dispute this, but knows that there's no point. In turn, Marron can't understand that maybe he _does_ understand, though there is always the possibility that what Marron says is true, also. Maybe Milphey _doesn't_ understand. Maybe it is in fact impossible for him to understand. He's had many close friends and lovers to any sort of degree over the (many, many) years, but he never had a brother. Perhaps there _is_ something unique in the bond of blood that he can't hope to comprehend, but it still feels painfully obvious.

He was there, after Apricot, to watch the children grow up. He would hold Marron after the children from the village had teased him (and he would never _say_ that that was what had happened, but again, such things were not hard to fathom). He would listen as Carrot made all kinds of claims for the next time he ran into that particular set of children and then, later on, help bandage up the scuffs and scrapes Carrot got from his latest fight on Marron's behalf. Marron came to look up to the brother who came to his aid in times of need; that much was perfectly fine, indeed it seemed quite normal. The problem was, Milphey felt, that Marron never _stopped_. Even through to now, where Marron had surpassed Carrot in practically every available parameter, he still looked up to his brother for... some reason or another. Too conditioned by his childhood behaviour, Marron had become blinkered into this sole train of thought and Milphey didn't know what, if anything, could drag him out of it.

Gateau calls Marron beautiful and, in private, Marron tells Milphey that he hates it. He spits the words out, as if they are the most abhorrent curse known to man. These words. Words like them. _Beautiful._

 _Beautiful._

Marron hates it because he can't feel it. Milphey watches with despair as Marron convinces himself that he is somebody who loves his brother in a manner that he shouldn't, and therefore that taints _everything_. Gateau looks at him and says _beautiful_ , but he knows nothing. He doesn't know the ugly thoughts and disgusting feelings. He doesn't know the layers that have gone into building his visual target. Primarily though, it disturbs Milphey how Marron nearly seems to revel in this, almost seeming to _enjoy_ the invisible wedge he's driving between himself and _anybody else_. Because nobody else can know. Because such a secret affects everything. Because Marron seems, in a strange sort of a way, to be quite enamoured with the thought of the monster he could become.

Milphey tells him that it's no bad thing to love somebody. He may be untrained in the ways of basic incestual practice, but he does believe that. Marron fancies himself shattered by the processes of his own thoughts. He tells Milphey of his pain because there's no-one else to talk to, and Milphey wonders if Marron would ever drop his defence long enough to let any other human being near. He's building up perceptions of how he thinks interpersonal relationships work, and Milphey isn't sure he's right. Not that he's exactly helping, though. He knows that.

Marron is beautiful, though. For all that Gateau says it Milphey supposes Marron doesn't need (nor want) the point reinforced but Milphey feels quite content in passing the matter over in the confines of his mind, free from judgement or accusation. And Marron stoops to free his lower body of clothing, his hair spilling across his shoulders in stark contrast to his pale, naked skin. He does look up, just once, to confirm Milphey's position in the room; Milphey catches that gaze with deft precision and Marron is quick to look away but in those brief moments, Milphey sees irritation in those eyes. Misplaced anger that Milphey should even have the audacity to watch such a display despite Marron leaving his clothes in the empty middle of the bedroom and Milphey standing by the door still, with nothing else between them. Of course Milphey would watch and Marron seems to act like he hates it, and yet still does it nonetheless. Milphey watches with narrowed eyelids, considering the reasoning behind that. Wondering if there is really any to begin with. Wondering what sort of consent that given by the stubborn mind really is. Marron glares like that, but still comes here. Still does this. Night after night, it would all stop if Marron stopped but he doesn't, and so _they_ don't. And Marron _is_ beautiful, but Milphey feels it needless to say so. He thinks on books and on judging by their covers, on diamonds in the rough and how even great beauty can hide such darkness. Isn't that the point Marron tries to argue? Perhaps. Milphey looks at Marron and still feels that there is hope. Marron looks at Milphey because he doesn't think there is any hope at all. It's all hopeless, and _that's_ why _this_ happens. And his mind is so deliriously one-track that Milphey only wants to hold him and tell him that it _will_ be alright, because he really believes that, but Marron doesn't and doesn't _want_ to and so, for now, Milphey doesn't.

Things never _had_ to play out like this. They didn't _have_ to be here like this. Milphey waits for Marron to refuse him, knowing that that won't happen. He can't refuse Marron, and that's part of the problem. When thinking about this in a disconnected situation, the theories behind _let's stop this_ seem quite simple. And then Marron is stood by his bed and _staring_ at him and expecting and wanting - perhaps? - and it's a matter of one life too short and the other too long to worry over such trivial moral quandaries.

 _If this goes wrong,_ Milphey thinks to himself, _it's only because it's what you thought you wanted._

 _I'm only doing what you asked._

It's no defence at all and Milphey knows it, but it's good enough for now. Marron wouldn't be here to begin with if it wasn't at least what he _thought_ he wanted. As for what he actually wants... Milphey doesn't know the answer. To say 'Carrot' seems too simplistic and, by this point, Milphey wonders if even _that_ would satisfy Marron's incredible capacity for emotional masochism.

Milphey smiles when the thought crosses his mind. _Maybe you are broken,_ he can't help but think. Time was a healer, he knew that as much as anybody, but he had more access to it than most. It could heal. It _could_ heal. Marron could grow into sensible maturity alongside his age and look back to his younger years with a wry, wistful smile for the unintentionally wayward way in which he'd behaved. He _could_ do that. He could, also, allow this genuinely to splinter and fracture within him. It could get worse and worse, but humans were awfully resilient. It could get worse, but what would it take for one to go mad? Marron was too mentally controlled for that. He controlled himself so well. Perhaps too much. Perhaps years would pass and this would never heal, because Marron would fuss at the wound and refuse to allow it. Because it was frightening how easily one could take solace in the comfort of familiar misery than try, genuinely, to throw those shackles off and risk freedom and happiness. Freedom was such a wide and open concept, wasn't it? Marron, in comparison, rather seemed to like being shut in. (For now. In these tender years, where one had the choice.)

Marron climbs onto the bed and lies there without fanfare, waiting silently for Milphey. If he had thought to be efficient then he might have undressed at the same time as Marron, but to do so would have been to distract himself from that previous spectacle, and he simply couldn't bring himself to do that. He undresses quickly, occasionally glancing up to see Marron staring at his ceiling, entirely unconcerned by what is happening mere feet away. Another thing that brings a smile to Milphey's face. Some people treasured that, didn't they? The hallowed transformation from clothed to nude, the action that, at least in this context, represented the entry into an atmosphere that only they two shared... in theory. In practice, Marron didn't seem to care. Milphey didn't take his time, not for this; he remembered various lascivious practices from the past, but they were not for now. Not the sort of thing that Marron would appreciate. Even in the unlikely event of the tension in their situation decreasing, Milphey wasn't sure Marron would know how to react; the thought was amusing, but one best kept to himself.

As he makes to approach the bed, Marron rolls over onto his chest. He goes from staring at the ceiling to resting his chin on folded arms, staring aimlessly at Milphey's headboard. He is still beautiful, in a distant sort of a way, but Milphey takes his time brushing Marron's hair aside and kissing from his neck down his spine while stroking himself hard, because Marron's detached manner does not make this easy. Milphey prepares, taking lubrication, for as much as Marron always says he wants it rough, Milphey doubts that either of them want it _that_ rough. He prepares in an attempt to read Marron's mood, to work out how to play this. This, here, is not a matter of love or even, particularly, of sexual gratification; Marron is frustrated and frustrated with _everything_ , and this is but one outlet. One failed outlet. There are, probably, others. Probably. Perhaps.

Marron tells Milphey not to be gentle. In any other situation with any other lover such speak could be titillating, but in the here and now Milphey can't help but feel those words register the opposite effect. Marron says those things, so Milphey doesn't want to do them. Marron talks of being and feeling broken, but Milphey knows him, for better or worse, far stronger than that. He has the potential to fuck the boy into incoherence, he knows this from (past partners and) past experience, but he doesn't _want_ to. Marron wants him to, but that feels so exhausting. All of this talk of destruction feels similar. He knows he'll be there for Marron no matter what, but can't help the impulse to be gentle on the offchance that that touch might be the one touch that could, perhaps, convince Marron otherwise. If such a thing exists. He has hope for that, too.

Marron seems to try his best to keep quiet, but can't keep that up indefinitely. He tries. He _tries_. Milphey tries to rein himself in so as to be able to catch each gasp and sigh that might unintentionally escape Marron's lips; Milphey treasures every half-sound that catches in Marron's throat, holding one arm across his chest and the other splaying fingers down against his lower stomach as he feels Marron yield and become pliant beneath him. This, essentially, is Marron's purpose behind these visits; he comes here because he wants to let go, _needs_ to let go, doesn't know any other way of doing so. He resists until he can't any longer, resists more against himself than anything else, seems to trust Milphey to push that resistance into something unbearable. Literally unbearable. Something exhilarating that Marron can't stand and _can't control_ ; he places that whim in Milphey's capable hands. And Milphey can see and feel it starting, every time; sometimes the moon breaks a shard of light across the bedroom, but tonight is not that night. Nonetheless, Milphey can quite plainly picture Marron's flushed expression in his mind. Milphey moves against him but can feel, slowly, Marron's movements changing to move _with_ him, instead. He doesn't try to restrain the sounds of his laboured breathing, of sounds that could _almost_ be words, but not quite.

(Sometimes that one certain word is said. Milphey lets him. Never mentions it afterwards. If that's what's on Marron's mind, then it can't be helped. He hears the desperation present in that one word and almost wishes, for a moment, that Carrot could hear it and be moved by it; this is from a position of bias, however. Likely it would be best for that not to happen. Milphey knows his optimism in that area quite unrealistic; for all of Marron's negativity on the matter, he can't fault the boy for erring quite definitely on the side of caution.)

The process of letting go, for Marron, is no easy one at all. He cries out, sometimes, not in passion or pleasure but in that same familiar frustration that has dogged him all along. He throws himself to the pillows to smother snarls for this not being easy or comfortable and Milphey slows to simply hold him, wondering not for the first time that _perhaps you were never ready for this_. To voice this, however, would be to earn him Marron's anger, to give it voice and audience and attention and, Milphey has learnt, to ignore it is usually the best solution. Marron wants this to be harsh, to be over as soon as possible, for it to be quick and brutal and overpowering. Milphey could do that, but won't. He waits for the anger to subside, to be able to catch a momentary half-second of weakness he can turn towards his own ends. It takes a lot to wear down Marron's control, but Milphey is patient. Wavering cries cut through the silence, cries originating from somewhere other than his own personal irritation. Cries that, from someone more sexually confident, might voice the desired specific. Marron doesn't, but turns his face so that Milphey may silence him with crushing kisses - another thing which, Milphey knows, Marron finds embarrassing. He doesn't care; in the face of all else that they are used to a kiss is practically innocent (though one could argue the case against these made in the middle of the act), and Marron still manages to respond in kind. To move breaks the kiss causes the louder sound of harried breathing, and it almost seems like Marron prefers the humiliation of the former to the latter; there is some solace in silence, even if nothing much about this situation could _really_ be described so for he intent on listening. Milphey takes it all in and records it to his mind, where nobody else will ever discover it. Nobody else will ever know what goes on here but Milphey, on the other hand, will never forget it. And thus is it recorded down for something like eternity, kept for as long as Milphey is able to carry it.

It is always over far too quickly for Milphey's liking, though he places at least some of this blame at Marron's feet. Once is enough (apparently), and Marron seems to cool down quickly afterward; they lie together until rational thought filters back through and the silence turns decidedly awkward. Milphey always invites Marron to stay longer, to stay for the night, but Marron never does. They could have a mission come the morning, he says. Carrot would worry to wake in the morning and find him absent, he says. Milphey holds a strong suspicion that the reason is a mix of those and also that Marron simply doesn't want to risk having to explain himself to anybody, but he doesn't voice that opinion. He remains under the sheets as Marron sits on the edge of the bed and dresses himself, waits for Marron to look back before he leaves (as he always does), but can never think of any convincing reason to halt him or to change his mind.

Milphey rarely sleeps afterward. Sometimes his thoughts run adrift enough for him to slip away, but more often than not he'll lie in bed and watch the same unmoving ceiling Marron did hours previous, thinking until the sky begins to show promise of the day upcoming. Sometimes he tries to convince himself that he _will_ sleep after all and so stays to his bed, sometimes he'll admit this a losing battle and go to his window, open it, forget how bracing the cold night air is in comparison to a used and stuffy bedroom. He sometimes stays there until the growing morning light allows one to pick out landmarks of the gardens stretching beyond, perhaps even until it is daylight and everything is in full view. And perhaps there _will_ be a mission and lack of sleep will become an issue, but that can wait, just for now. While everything is still silent. Milphey would like if Marron were able to stay (or thought himself able), but has to admit the comfort of that sheer level of _tension_ falling in the immediate time period following his absence. It wasn't hard to dream of more, in this situation. _If Marron were easier with himself_ \--. _If Carrot wasn't such a factor_ \--. _If Carrot wasn't such an obstacle_ \-- and so on, and on, and on.

Milphey would stare out of the window, palms flat against the windowsill, not looking at anything in particular but thinking of Marron for all of that time. It was easy enough to consider these things, but Milphey would sometimes wonder if he was not perhaps prescribing Marron a little too much, at times. Marron was considered mature and he _was_ , for his age. For the group. Under the circumstances. Such labels were always relative. He was a respected Sorcerer Hunter and a powerful mage and a capable practitioner of Eastern Magic, but he was still a boy - a sixteen year old boy - who, perhaps, simply did not know what it was that he wanted. Given Marron's manner and behaviour, it was often very easy to forget this; given his own imbalance Milphey didn't like to judge on age, but admitted that it was, sometimes, an issue. Or maybe not one of age but of experience, and the latter was not always a guaranteed result of the former but it was still undeniable that Marron's own experience, at least with this, came only from a very selective pool. It all seemed hopeless now, but he, no matter what he thought or said, was still young. It was easy to feel the drama as high as Marron pitched it when his desperation reached its regular peaks, but there was the promise of _so much more_. Perhaps Carrot would realise and return Marron's feelings. Perhaps Marron would open his eyes to Gateau's affections, at last. Perhaps Tira. Perhaps Chocolat. Perhaps any one of the thousands of millions of people on the planet they had not yet encountered. Because Marron was _sixteen_. Milphey would smile to think about this, albeit somewhat wryly. It was good to be young, wasn't it? Naturally, Marron wouldn't allow himself to begin to consider any of those other options. To him, they were not options at all. To Milphey, he knew that they were only not _yet_ options. Time, he supposed, would tell.

And so, Milphey would watch. He would allow himself to get this involved, but would drop out neatly at the prospect of any other development. While he knew it something not known by those around him, he still felt his own personal longevity something of either a disadvantage or an unfair advantage against those he was consorting amongst. He sometimes wondered if he had any right at all to interfere with the lives of these fragile, short-lived beings, but knew also that he wouldn't have it any other way. He would let himself be their background staple, until something else entered the foreground. He would let Marron learn until which point such teachings were no longer needed, until Marron could graduate into something more stable and mature, having been indulged his innocent selfish feelings in times he would look back and recognise as such. In a way, it was fascinating to see the evolution - so long as Marron did indeed evolve, of course. (It came down to two options; Marron could be kept and smothered, or encouraged and freed. As for which he would engineer, Milphey hadn't yet decided.)

Milphey himself, also, had the capability to be selfish. The difference here was, he knew, that he was certainly old enough to know better. Old enough to know _best_. Old enough to know himself more controlled than Marron could ever hope to be and yet to know the value of surrender, whenever the situation called for it. Old enough--... _experienced_ enough to know, as the sun rose enough for the occupants of certain rooms of their shared building to be able to watch certain young mages taking part in their morning meditation in the dawn-lit garden, that focusing too much attention on one subject would never end well. _Could_ never end well, at least so far as he himself was concerned. Because they were delicate, because they had enormous capability to break, because they _did_ break, because Marron knew _nothing_ when he spoke of being broken--

And because he didn't _need_ to know. Milphey would never tell him. He could either discover that for himself or avoid ever knowing, just as he saw fit. Marron thought that this hurt, and perhaps it did in some way or another, but they - _they_ \- were all still so innocent. For that reason, Milphey liked to keep watch.

Such things were always so fleeting, after all.

 _end_


End file.
